Chapter 124
SHE LOOKED like a bizarre disfigurement of the beautiful woman she was. Her hair was matted and dyed gray and red. Her face still carried the marks of her disguise, a man's sideburns and flecks of a red beard. She was holding a gun tightly, pointing it directly at him. "I have a present for you, Nick." "A present?" Jenks said in desperation. "What the hell are you talking about?" "That's why we're here. I want to renew our vows." Chessy took a small pouch out of her jacket and tossed it at his feet. "Go ahead. Open it." Nicholas Jenks knelt stiffly and picked up the pouch. He opened it, the contents spilling into his palm. His eyes bulged in horror. The six missing rings. "Chessy, Christ," he said. "You're out of your mind. What do you want me to do with these?" He held out a ring. "These will put you in the gas chamber." "No, Nick," Chessy said, shaking her head. "I want you to swallow them. Get rid of the evidence for me." Jenks's face twitched in apprehension. "You want me to what?" "Swallow them. Each one is someone you've destroyed. Someone whose beauty you've killed. They were innocent. Like me. Little girls on our wedding days. You killed us all, Nick- me, Kathy, Joanna. So now give us something back. With this ring, I do pledge." Jenks glared and shouted at her. "That's enough, Chessy!" "I'll say when it's enough. You love games, so play the game. Play my game this time. Swallow them."" She pointed the gun. "No sense pretending I won't shoot, is there, dear?" Jenks took one of the rings, raised it to his lips. His hand was shaking badly. "That was Melanie, Nicky. You would've liked her. Athletic a skier… a diver. Your type, huh? She fought me to the end. But you don't like us to fight, do you? You like to be in total control." She cocked the gun and leveled it at Jenks's head. Jenks put the ring in his mouth. With a sickened expression, he forced it down his throat. Chessy was losing it. She was sobbing, trembling. I didn't think I could wait any longer. "Police," I yelled. I stepped forward, two hands on my38, leveling it at her. She spun at me, not even showing surprise, then back to Jenks. "He has to be punished!" "It's over," I said, carefully advancing toward her. "Please, Chessy, no more killing. " As if she suddenly realized what she had become, the sickening things she'd done, she looked at me. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened- except this!" She fired, atjenks. I fired, too, at her. Chessy's slender body flew backward, hitting the wall hard and crumpling against it. Her beautiful eyes widened, and her mouth sagged open. I looked and saw that she'd missed Jenks. He was staring at her in disbelief. He didn't think she could do it, didn't think she hated him that much. He still believed he controlled Chessy, and probably that she loved him. I hurried to her, but it was too late. Her eyes were already glazed, and the blood was streaming from her chest. I held her head and thought that she was so beautiful- like Melanie, Rebecca, Kathy- and now she was dead, too. Nicholas Jenks turned toward me with a gasp of relief. "I told you… I told you I was innocent." I looked at him in disgust. Eight people were dead. The brides and grooms, Joanna, now his own wife. I told you I was innocent? Is that what he thought? I swung, my fist catching him square in the teeth. I felt something shatter as Jenks dropped to his knees. "So much for innocence, Jenks!"
Chapter 125
I WAS RUNNING AND I REALIZED that I no longer knew exactly what I was doing, where I was. Somehow my instincts brought me back to where Chris had been shot. He was still up against the pillar in the same position. He looked as if he'd been waiting for me to return. I rushed up to him, knelt down as close as I could get. I could see police and the EMS medical crew finally arriving. What took them so long? "What happened?" Chris whispered. I could barely hear him. "I got her, Chris. Chessy Jenks was the killer." He managed to nod his head. "That's my girl," he whispered. Then Chris smiled faintly and he died on me. I never would have imagined, or dreamed, that Chris would be the first to die. That was the most terrible and dreadful shock. I was the sick one, the one whom death had brushed against. I put my head down close to his chest. There was no movement, no breath, just a terrifying stillness. Everything seemed so unreal. Then the medics were working on Chris, doing heroic, useless things, and I just sat there holding his hand. I felt hollowed out and empty and incredibly sad. I was sobbing, but I had something to say to him; I had to tell Chris one last thing. "Medved told me, Chris. I'm going to be okay."
Chapter 126
I COULDN'T GO NEAR MY OFFICE at the Hall. I was given a one-week leave. I figured I'd take another of my own time on top of that. I sat around, watched some videos of old movies, went for my treatments, took a jog or two down by the marina. I even cooked and sat out on the terrace overlooking the bay, just as I had with Chris that first night. On one of those nights, I got really drunk and started playing with my gun. It was Sweet Martha who talked me off the ledge. That, and the fact that if I killed myself, I would be betraying Chris's memory. I couldn't do that. Also, the girls would never have forgiven me, right? I felt a hole tear at my heart, larger and more painful than anything I had ever felt, even with Negli's. I felt a void of connection, of commitment. Claire called me three times a day, but I just couldn't speak for very long, not even to her. "It wasn't you, Lindsay. There was nothing you could've done," she consoled. "I kind of know that," I replied. But I just couldn't convince myself it was true. Mostly, I tried to persuade myself I still felt a sense of purpose. The bride and groom murders were solved. Nicholas Jenks was shamelessly milking his celebrity status on Dateline and 20/20. My Negli's seemed to be in remission. Chris was gone. I tried to think of what I would do next. Nothing very appealing came to mind. Then I remembered what I had told Claire when my fears of Negli's were the strongest. Nailing this guy was the one clear thing that gave me the strength to go on. It wasn't just about right or wrong. It wasn't about guilt or innocence. It was about what I was good at, and what I loved to do. Four days after the shooting, I went to Chris's funeral. It was in a Catholic church out in Hayward, where he was from. I took my place in the ranks with Roth and Jacobi. With Chief Mercer, who was dressed in blues. But my heart was aching so bad. I wanted to be up near Chris. I wanted to be next to him. I watched his ex-wife and his two boys struggling to keep it together. I was thinking about how very close I had come to their lives. And they didn't know it. Hero cop, they were eulogizing him. He was a marketing guy, I thought, smiling. And then I started to cry. Of all people, I felt Jacobi grasp my hand. And of all the improbable things, I found myself holding his back. Go ahead, he seemed to be saying. Go ahead and weep. Afterward, at the graveside, I went up to Chris's ex-wife, Marion. "I wanted to meet you," I said. "I was with him when he died." She looked at me with the fragile courage only another woman could understand. "I know who you are," she said with a compassionate smile. "You are pretty. Chris told me you were pretty. And smart." I smiled and took her hand. We both squeezed hard. "He also said you were very brave." I felt my eyes well up. Then she took my arm and said the one thing I wanted most to hear. "Why don't you stand with us, Lindsay." The department gave Chris a hero's burial. Sad, mournful bagpipers opened the ceremony. Row after row of cops in dress blues. A twenty-one-gun salute. When it was over, I found myself walking back to the car, wondering what in God's name I was going to do next. At the cemetery gates I spotted Cindy and Jill and Claire. They were waiting there for me. I didn't move. I stood there, my legs trembling badly. They could see that if they didn't make the first move, I could break down. "Why don't you ride back with us?" Claire said. My voice cracked. I could barely utter the words. "It was supposed to be me, not him," I said to them. Then one by one they all hugged me. I put my arms around all of them and melted into their embrace as deeply as I could. All four of us were crying. "Don't ever leave me, guys." "Leave?" Jill said with wide eyes. "None of us," promised Cindy. "We're a team, remember? We will always be together." Claire took hold of my arm. "We love you, sweetie," she whispered. The four of us walked arm in arm out of the cemetery. A cooling breeze was blowing in our faces, drying our tears. At six o'clock that night, I was back inside the halls of the Hall of Justice. There was something important I had to do. In the lobby, almost the first thing you see, there's a large marble plaque. On it are ninety-three names, the names and dates of ninety-one men and two women who wore the uniform of the SFPD and died in the line of duty. A mason is working on the plaque. It's an unwritten rule on the force, you never count them. But tonight, I did. Ninety-three, starting with James S. Coonts on October 5,1878, when the SFPD was first formed. Tomorrow there will be one more: Christopher John Raleigh. The mayor will be there; Mercer, too. The reporters who cover the city beat. Marion and the boys. They will memorialize him as a hero cop. I will be there, too. But tonight, I don't want speeches or ceremonies. Tonight, I want it to be just him and me. The mason finishes up the engraving of his name. I wait while he sands the marble, vacuums away the last particle of dust. Then I walk up and run my hand over the smooth marble. Over his name. Christopher John Raleigh. The mason looks at me. He can see the pain welling in my eyes. "You knew him, huh?" I nod, and from somewhere deep in my heart, a smile comes forth. I knew him. "Partner," I say.